Frenemies with Benefits
by Gamebird
Summary: AU: Sylar is a bad guy. Peter is a good guy. Secretly they start seeing each other, because they have more in common than they think. With frenemies like these, who needs anyone else?
1. Frenemies with Benefits

**Title:** Frenemies with Benefits  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters/Pairings:** Peter, Sylar  
**Summary:** Based on Lornrocks' story_ "Won't Stop Until You're Shaking". _This is a prequel for it. It was based on a prompt that said,_ "I'd really like this to be in some wacky universe where Sylar is still a bad guy, but he and Peter are secretly seeing each other. Pleaseandthankyou!" _ I hope Lornrocks will see this, read this summary part, and let whoever know that this prequel is out there too.  
**Warnings:** Slash, explicit sexual content, some swearing, and unbeta'd.

**Notes:** This began as commentfic on LJ.

* * *

Peter teleported back to Jason's house after leaving the man with Hiro. He'd be safe there. Peter himself, less so. But he was getting tired of this cat-and-mouse with Sylar and ever since he lost his main ability, he seemed like it was just a matter of time until Sylar caught **him**. He was even more tired of being afraid.

He didn't have long to wait. It was pretty obvious who Sylar was going after. He'd stolen a list of specials from the ruins of Building 26 and they'd been tipped off that he was in the area. Peter was trying to think of a strategy that didn't involve simply using his current ability of teleportation to run away, when the front door unlocked itself and quietly swung inward.

Sylar got two steps inside before he saw Peter. He stopped and after a moment he took a deep, calming breath. "Peter Petrelli. Again." He looked around at the otherwise empty room, taking in Peter's empty hands.

"You've got to stop this, Sylar."

Sylar edged forward a bit so he could look down the hall to the right, then he took a few more steps to glance into the dining room. He looked back at Peter, a curious expression on his face. "Are you here **alone?"**

Peter took a step closer. He could leave in a blink, but that really wouldn't help anything. "Yes. I'm not afraid of you." But he was, and Sylar chuckled at the lie. "Listen, it's only a matter of time until you come after one of these specials and it's not just me waiting to talk to you, but instead a team and they take you down. That will be the **end**, Sylar. Is it really worth that? You're taking a big gamble every time you do this. Don't you have enough abilities yet?" He ended bitter and angry.

Sylar had listened to him attentively. Now he lifted one hand, open as if to be non-threatening, but to Peter it looked like the beginning of a gesture for telekinesis. He didn't feel the unseen tendrils of power though and even if he did, he could still teleport away.

Sylar walked closer to Peter, very slowly, every stride calculated and careful, watching Peter intently every step of the way. Peter let him get close. He wouldn't back down. He wouldn't teleport away. He wouldn't be afraid... his breathing sped up and his heart hammered in his chest anyway. Stupid body. Stupid fight or flight instincts.

"I think you **are** afraid," Sylar purred, from less than a foot away.

Peter's lip curled. "Fuck you, Sylar."

Sylar tilted his head slightly and gave him an infuriating smile. "Is that it? Is that why your palms are sweating, your heart is racing, your breathing is shallow?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. He was feeling that way, sure, but what did Sylar mean by 'is that it'? "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Sylar's arrogant grin stayed in place. "Do you want to fuck me, Petrelli?"

Peter blinked and caught his breath. He glanced back and forth around the room, then at Sylar, so close to him. _What the hell? This is unreal!_ His groin surged to life, fueled by the high emotions he already had. He seemed hyper aware of everything all of a sudden. His mouth was dry. He swallowed several times and finally remembered to breath again.

Sylar reached out that hand which he'd been holding up when he walked over and now he put it on Peter's shoulder. The arrogance slipped and for a moment, Peter saw the man underneath. "You do, don't you?"

Peter blinked. He **did**. He'd never really thought about it, but God, he did. He didn't let himself think about it anymore now. He darted his head forward and caught Sylar by surprise, locking his mouth over Sylar's and kissing him roughly, twining his hand deep into the taller man's hair, making a fist and pulling, forcing him forward and against Peter's body.

To Peter's shock, Sylar _**whimpered**_. He didn't pull away. He wrapped his arms around Peter like he'd never let him go and kissed back just as savagely, plunging his tongue between Peter's lips and into his mouth. After a forever, Peter jerked Sylar's head back by his hair and said, "Oh, God! Fuck, yes." His grip loosened and Sylar began working across Peter's face, kissing him and licking his skin.

Peter reached down to tug at the front of Sylar's pants. "Are we going all the way?"

Sylar took a moment from chewing at the corner of Peter's jawbone to say, "If I have to hold you down with telekinesis and rape you, I will. You started this, Petrelli. I'm sure as hell not letting you stop halfway!"

Peter shivered at the threat. "If you did that, next time there **will** be a team here and you **will** be taken down." But he tilted his head back to let Sylar work down his throat, while Peter's fingers figured out how to unfasten Sylar's jeans and shove them down over that tight ass. He wasn't wearing anything under them and that was so, so hot.

Sylar chuckled against his skin. "So are you saying, Peter, that the only reason there hasn't been a team assembled before now to take me down is because you were waiting for this?" He punctuated his sentence by using his telekinesis to casually toss Peter onto the couch. He took a few moments to jerk his feet out of his tight jeans, losing his shoes in the process, before joining the Italian.

The way Sylar joined him told Peter a lot about the killer's lack of experience in this area. He didn't know where to put his hands or knees. An expression of frustration grew on his face as he tried to work out the geometry.

"You've never done this before?" Peter asked.

"Not with a man..."

"Oh," Peter said, chuckling. That was a mistake. Sylar's expression shifted to anger and he reached up and sliced Peter's jeans open, cutting through the waistband and down one thigh, leaving a shallow cut along the top of Peter's leg.

Peter hissed in pain and stiffened. Sylar yanked off his pants and threw his shoes aside. "Sylar! Sylar!" The other man glared at him, still angry at the implication that he was ignorant or inexperienced. Peter grabbed his arm and said, "Sylar, we're about to fuck. I'm not here to hurt you. I just asked because it lets me know what to do... what not to assume." Sylar hesitated, thinking about that and relaxing a little. It was enough of a reaction for Peter to lean up and bring a hand to Sylar's face. When Sylar jerked aside, Peter leaned in fast and kissed him. Sylar didn't jerk away from his mouth.

Peter felt Sylar shake for a moment, then it subsided and he slowly melted into the kiss, tongues sweeping against one another and over sensitive, almost ticklish lips. They tried different positions, different tilts of the head, different pressures. Peter stroked the side of Sylar's face, his fingertips stroking gently.

When they broke apart, each breathing hard, but being a little more trusting, Peter said, "We're going to need lube."

Sylar looked around the house. "They have a kitchen. Will vegetable oil do?" He stood up and pulled off his shirt in a single motion. Peter's breath caught in his throat and he reached out to touch... that body... but Sylar had turned away already and was walking off, having no idea how much of a response he'd caused.

"Yeah," Peter said weakly, finally finding his voice. He shucked his own shirt and t-shirt by the time Sylar got back, holding a medium sized bottle of olive oil.

Peter shifted up to sitting on the couch, legs spread. As soon as Sylar came close, he tugged him closer, ignoring Sylar's grunt and the tension in the taller man's body as he buried his face against his taut stomach and ran his hands around behind him to caress the small of his back.

"Oh!" Sylar said, dropping the bottle on the couch and running his hands through Peter's hair and across his shoulders, down his neck. He brought them up and worked the fingers of both hands into Peter's scalp. "I could take the top of your head off right now."

Peter snorted. _Now,_ he wasn't afraid. Not of that, because the idea that Sylar might interrupt the goings-on to do _that_ was ridiculous. He licked the head of Sylar's cock and felt the man's whole body jerk. Yes, he was completely safe. He took the entire glans into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it.

"Oh!" Sylar said again, tensing for different reasons now. "I'm… I can't… Peter… I'm… You're gonna… No…"

Peter pulled off. _He really is inexperienced if he's going to come already._ "If I fuck you, you'll last longer."

"You don't get to fuck me!" Sylar snarled, grabbing Peter by the hair and jerking him back. He let him go almost immediately, as Peter's expression had shifted fast to angry. "I'm… uh…" Sylar almost apologized for over-reacting. Peter could see the words struggling to come out, but they didn't make it. "No. I'll… I'm…"

Peter reached back and snagged the oil, trying to put aside his anger and the doubts about why he was doing this in the first place. So Sylar was insecure. That made sense. No one with as much bluster and grand-standing as he did was entirely content with themselves. Peter said, "Get on your knees. The couch is about the right height." He poured out too much oil on his hand as Sylar quietly did as directed.

Peter reached down with one hand and pulled his balls out of the way. With the other, he found his anus and smeared it, then put his head back, slightly propped by the back of the couch, and probed into himself. Through barely open eyes, Peter could see the expressions on Sylar's face. They were fantastic. He was fascinated, staring, ogling as Peter's fingers plunged into himself, working himself open, oiling and preparing for Sylar's entry. Sylar's mouth opened slowly and one hand fell to his groin as he stared in lust and total absorption.

Peter pulled his hand back. "Hey, I actually want some here, so you stop that and get inside me before you blow your load."

Sylar blinked, pulling himself back to reality with the greatest of difficulty. He came up on his knees and forward, trying to lean back enough to see what he was doing and where he was going. Or maybe he just wanted a really good look at himself while he pressed in. Peter reached down and hooked his hands under his own knees, pulling himself back so Sylar had a better view.

The taller man was breathing hard. Peter felt the rounded, swollen head of his cock against him, nudging in slowly. With a more experienced lover, Peter would have thought they were teasing. He made no effort to hurry Sylar along. He felt him push inside enough to get his entire head in and Sylar's face took on the most vulnerable, pleading look, almost in pain, lost in pleasure. He bucked forward once and came.

Peter bit his lip, hard. _I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I will not make fun of the psycho-killer for being a virgin with men and premature. I will not laugh. Oh my God, this is tough._

Sylar bent forward, shaking all over, hair hanging down over his face. He wasn't entirely gone, though. His left hand rubbed lightly across Peter's hip as he heaved in irregular, choked breaths. Peter moved slowly, carefully, not sure about Sylar's own reaction to his performance. Would he be exuberant to have done it? Angry that he didn't perform well? Upset? Depressed? Peter let go of his own legs and wrapped them around Sylar's waist, hooking them together behind him, trapping him inside of him for now. When that didn't get a reaction beyond a noisy swallow, Peter reached down and took Sylar's left hand, then put it on himself.

Sylar nodded, still not looking at him, head hanging, and began to stroke. Peter got the oil and drizzled some over himself. He capped the bottle again and set it aside, throwing his head back and panting. Sylar stroked him with steady, methodical motions. It was nice; it was good. Peter let a happy croon slip his lips. He felt Sylar shift a little and relax. Sylar reached up with his right hand and let his fingers drift over the skin of Peter's stomach, then to brush across his nipple.

"Oh, yeah," Peter murmured. "I like that." Sylar pinched the nipple lightly and Peter moaned. "Ooohh! We just need to fuck more often, Sylar. That's the answer to everything, all of this. You show up somewhere, I'll get all the specials out, then you and me can fuck each other's brains out while…" He lost his voice for a moment because Sylar's hand had sped up, the pressure had changed and he was suddenly doing a much better job of it.

Peter grinned, eyes still shut. He suspected he knew the reason for the other man's enthusiasm. "Oh yeah, Sylar. I want to do this again. I want to do it over and over. I'll give you my fucking phone number… oh my God… I _will_." It was getting hard to talk while breathing as hard as Peter was, feeling little thrills and tingles beginning to spread across him and knot in his gut. "And when you want to… when you get the feeling you want to kill someone, call me up. I'll fuck your brains out or let you fuck me and everyone will be happy… _so happy_… oh my God, _**YES!**_" He came with a shout.

Afterwards, Peter did a skimpy job of cleaning up, wiping himself with his ruined jeans. His boxer briefs had been shredded too. Sylar got dressed, still not looking at him, avoiding eye contact. When he came back from returning the olive oil to the kitchen, Peter was readjusting the couch cushions. Sylar made a motion towards the door. "I… could… take you somewhere. I'm sure this guy Jason has something that will work as pants around here for you."

Peter shook his head. Sylar didn't know he had teleportation and could just blink back to his apartment. Sylar's expression fell. He turned away, looking rejected.

"Hey," Peter said. He walked to Sylar quickly, taking his elbow and pulling him over to a small table set under a mirror, with a phone on it. Next to the phone was a cup of pens. He pulled one out, lifted Sylar's hand and wrote his phone number on it.

Sylar blinked at it. "You were serious? But… I hate you. Why would you…? This was just a… I thought you were just talking… just sex talk. It doesn't have to mean anything."

Peter kissed him, wrapping his hands behind Sylar's neck. The taller man returned it with interest. When they broke, Peter stepped away, backing up. "It meant something. Now I've got to go, or they'll send someone to make sure I'm okay." With that, he teleported out.


	2. Frenemies Library Edition

**Title:** Frenemies: Library Edition  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters/Pairings:** Peter, Sylar  
**Summary:** Peter and group try to ambush Sylar at a meeting in the public library, but Sylar gets away. Peter chases him through the stacks to a remote part of the building and one thing leads to another…

**Warnings:** Slash, explicit sexual content, some swearing, and unbeta'd.

The next time, the group Peter was with was tipped off that Sylar was meeting a couple specials in the central library. One person with an ability in the group, Brianna, had already gone missing. One of the other members had done some research and discovered Sylar's reputation. She'd also found Hiro's website promising to help anyone in need (especially specials, but most people didn't see the subtext there).

Sylar wasn't the only skittish one in the group. As soon as Hiro's band closed in, there was chaos. Sylar, for his part, took one look at the five headed towards him and fled. He had no interest in fair fights or getting captured and there was nothing here for him anyway. Peter gave chase. When he realized Ando was with him, he turned and told him, "Go help Hiro! I'll be fine."

Ando nodded and went back, accepting it on face value that Peter could stand alone against Sylar. Peter didn't stand so much as run. Sylar led him on a merry chase through the stacks, causing a ruckus in the occupied areas until he disappeared into the sliding racks of the less-frequented areas. Peter slowed down to a cautious walk, sure his quarry was nearby. He strained his ears, but heard nothing.

His head snapped aside as he heard a sound like the faint scuff of a shoe or the shifting of weight at the end of the open lane of the sliding racks. He walked down, very slowly, leaning forward to see. He was nearly to the end when Sylar swept in behind him, tackling him to the floor. Peter hit hard and saw stars. For a moment, he was utterly helpless.

When he woke, Sylar's hands were on his neck like he was about to snap it. He was crouched over him, straddling Peter's body from behind. Peter froze. His breathing sped up. When Sylar didn't do it, Peter said breathily, "You never called."

Sylar's fingers on one hand rubbed Peter's chin gently, letting him know that killing him wasn't really on the menu - not unless Peter did something stupid. Sylar said, "You said to call if I felt like I needed to kill someone. I didn't."

"What happened to Brianna?"

"I think she recognized my name and hit the road. The rest were ignorant. Or, at least, I thought they were." He'd shifted forward so he was whispering almost in Peter's ear. He nuzzled the back of Peter's head. "Someone must have tipped you off."

"Yeah," was all Peter said. He shifted his weight a little, getting his hands flat on the floor in front of him.

"Stay there," Sylar said in a warning growl. He let go of Peter's head and scooted back, one hand circling Peter's waist to unfasten his jeans.

"Sylar-" Peter started to roll over.

Sylar slammed him back down with telekinesis. "I said **stay there!**" His voice was a forced whisper. He unbuttoned the jeans, jerked down the zipper and yanked them back. He admired the black thong Peter was wearing, silently rubbing a single finger across the tiny triangle of satiny material at the top of Peter's ass.

Whispering back, Peter said, "Sylar, we're in a public library."

"If I want to fuck you, I'm going to fuck you wherever I want to. I've gotten away with killing people in more public of places. What makes you think a little screwing is going to attract more attention than that?"

Peter was quiet, trying to decide whether it was sexy that the killer wanted him so bad that he'd take him so openly. He was pretty sure it was really hot. He'd been more than a little disappointed when a few weeks had passed and the guy had never even called.

Those thoughts were driven from his mind as Sylar's fingers slipped under the strap of the thong and followed it around to the front. He slid his hand over the outside of the fabric, cupping Peter, squeezing softly. Peter moaned. Sylar crooned, "Oh, yeah. Have you been wearing this all this time hoping I'd see you in it? Or do you have someone else?"

"There's no one else," Peter said, gritting his teeth slightly. He'd been alone for a really long time. After the debacle with Caitlin and Simone he'd given up on being with anyone. It was too dangerous. His life was too screwed up. It probably had to lot to do with him screwing Sylar in the first place. And a lot to do with why he was currently starting to pant against the rough, short carpet of the library, letting Sylar molest him. Wasn't he supposed to be trying to capture the guy? _Like that's going to happen. What the hell did Ando think I was going to do Sylar, anyway?_

Again, Sylar drove out rational thought by slipping a slick finger into his crack. It inched down awkwardly, searching for the right spot and not realizing he was at least two inches from where he needed to be. While he probed around, Peter said, "You have lube?"

"Obviously," Sylar said roughly, shoving his finger down further hard enough to make Peter wince. But he found the right spot at least. Peter grunted as the questing digit pushed into him immediately.

"Use more of it," Peter directed. It salved his ego to realize that Sylar was as desperate as he was, if he had been carrying around a tube of lubricant all this time, just in case they ran into each other again.

Sylar did, pouring it out until Peter's crack was dripping with the stuff. Peter heard Sylar's zipper drop and he moved into position.

"You're going to fuck me against the floor?" Peter asked, reaching down to pull down his underwear.

An unseen force grabbed his hand and put it back where it had started, pinning it to the floor. "Yes," Sylar hissed, lowering himself over Peter. He pulled the strap of the thong out of place and rubbed himself up and down against Peter, smearing himself in the copious lube. He bent and bit Peter on the back, then the shoulder. His member slipped down, fucking Peter's crack more than his ass itself. Sylar didn't seem to mind. He kissed the back of Peter's neck, then bit him again, harder.

Peter moaned, pushing his hips back against Sylar. He wanted more sensation than he was getting.

"Be quiet," Sylar whispered. "We wouldn't want to attract any attention, now would we? What would your friends think if they found us like this?"

_They'd probably think I was being raped,_ Peter thought. _They'd think even worse of you than they already do._

Sylar adjusted himself and suddenly he was pushing against Peter's anus. Sylar's surprised grunt and "Oh!" told Peter the man hadn't even realized he wasn't in him. Peter's mind flashed to a woman he'd treated once who'd been raped. She'd had sex several times before the rape, but it was all intercrural - between her thighs. She (and her equally inexperienced boyfriend at the time) had never known they were doing it wrong. She'd been happy to have sex with her last partner, until he pushed_ inside_ her, at which point everything went to hell. It had been a morally difficult situation, all the way around.

Sylar muffled his own groan as he suddenly sunk inside Peter. The groan turned into a whimper, followed by a whispered, prayer-like, "Oh my God…"

Peter tried to spread his legs, but Sylar's knees were on either side and his pants were around his legs anyway. It burned and hurt, but he knew that wouldn't last. It felt good and Peter wanted it. He wanted it so bad. He felt pathetic for wanting it so bad that he was taking it from a serial killer on the floor of a public place. Sylar pulled out too far and fell out, then missed getting back in, then got it right and made another stifled groan.

"Oh, Peter. Oh…" He fucked him in shallow thrusts, obviously uncomfortable about going too fast because of the slapping sound of their flesh. And so instead, he fucked Peter slowly, so slowly it was a torture and Peter lay there sprawled on the floor being stimulated constantly, steadily, but so gradually that he could feel every detail and nuance of it. The speed was probably a benefit for Sylar too, keeping him from rushing too fast. His weight began to press down against Peter as he shifted to cover him, mouthing Peter's neck and the back of his head, muttering, "Oh, this is so good," and "God, I love this," and "You're so hot," and "You're mine, Petrelli."

Peter's body was rocked against the rough floor in a steady friction. His cock was protected from carpet burn by still being trapped inside his underwear, filling the fabric completely. It hurt and ached; the pressure and continual motion was incredible. Peter's eyes felt like they were trying to roll up in the back of his head and he came, soiling his underwear as he keened quietly.

Sylar laughed. "You…? You came first?"

_I didn't laugh when you did it,_ Peter thought crossly, but he only nodded. Sylar shoved into him a little harder, risking the noise in order to speed himself. He moved his hands to Peter's shoulders and held himself up, shoving in at a better angle, getting a tiny bit deeper. Taking the weight of most of Sylar's upper body on just his shoulders _hurt_, but Peter just bit his lip and kept his mouth shut. Sylar came shortly after and froze up, panting raggedly. His breathing sounded loud in the silence of the place. Distantly, they could hear the door to the level bang open and a couple of voices in carefree conversation drifted in.

Sylar rolled off immediately and adjusted his clothing. A moment later he was gone. Peter looked back, gaping. _He left? He just fucking left? He didn't even say fucking good-bye! Or 'that was good' or 'thank you' or anything! Done with me like a used tissue? What the hell? _Peter struggled to get his pants back on. He was greasy with lube and cum and his hair was tousled from where it had been mauled. He was so angry his hands were shaking. _The next time I run into you, it is __**not**__ going this way…_


	3. Frenemies Smackdown

**Title:** Frenemies: Smackdown  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters/Pairings:** Peter, Sylar  
**Summary:** Peter is really angry about Sylar's recent conduct. He feels disrespected and used. Sylar has some serious sucking up to do if he wants in Peter's pants again.

**Warnings:** Slash, explicit sexual content, some swearing, a fair bit of generic violence, mentions of blood, unbeta'd.

**Notes:** I plan one more chapter before Lornrocks' chapter would fit. Sorry this ended up so long.

Peter was pissed over the library incident - seriously pissed. He told the others Sylar had gotten away and was just thankful the bastard had used an unscented lube. They caught up with him only a week later. He'd changed cities and gone back to working the stolen list. This time he assaulted the wrong person, mistaking the father for the son, but he didn't get so far as cutting open a head. Sylar could detect abilities once he got close to someone and with the man pinned to his own kitchen island, a dozen knives sunk in the wood around him, Sylar figured out he had the wrong person.

He'd just walked off and left him, like he wasn't even worth murdering. Hiro's group was there only a handful of hours after the attack. Peter expected that Sylar was still close by, still stalking his original prey. They set an ambush at the younger man's apartment, thinking Sylar would find it eventually.

He did, but what they hadn't known was that Sylar wasn't working alone this time. His meeting at the public library had been part of a continuing effort the killer had been making to find cohorts and cronies, or at least partners in crime. Peter had no idea what Sylar's associates got out of it, but the point was that when Sylar moved in, he had backup. Only one, a 6' 3" muscular brute named Lenny, came in with him.

As soon as the ambush was discovered, Sylar slung a chair across the room and into Hiro's head, disabling him. Lenny rushed Gordon (one of Hiro's allies) and they began struggling, acid secretion vs. granulation. Ando's primary weapon, his red lightning, was useless against Sylar (and most specials) because it just super-charged their abilities. Peter and Ando went to fists while the other two members of their team, Gordon and Ian, engaged Sylar's ally, Lenny.

Two against one should have been good odds, but Peter's currently held ability of granulation was useless in a fight unless he wanted to actually kill Sylar… which he didn't. (He wasn't **that** pissed.) Still, the two men managed to mess Sylar up and keep him reeling, knocking him to the floor. Peter grabbed the modified epi-pen they had for neutralizing Sylar as Ando pinned him. Sylar's entire body was suddenly wreathed in blue, cryogenic fire. Ando fell backwards, shivering and gasping, his body plunged suddenly into hypothermic shock.

Peter jumped in, but Sylar rolled and grabbed his arm, preventing him from connecting with the syringe. They fought for a moment as Sylar gave Peter his most infuriating grin. He knew he was going to win now. Peter's arm began to freeze painfully and he put his free hand to Sylar's face. For a moment, the cold stopped advancing and Sylar's smug expression faltered. It wasn't that he feared what Peter might do to him. It was that Peter's touch was gentle.

There was a tingle as Peter took regeneration. Sylar's face contorted as he realized Peter had exploited the gesture not to calm him, but just to use him. The fight got worse after that and once Sylar figured out exactly which ability Peter had availed himself of, he started slashing him with telekinesis and letting Peter know just how much he'd been holding back all through the fight.

He could have murdered Hiro more easily than hitting him with a chair; he could have bashed Ando's head in instead of putting him into a momentary shock that would fade as soon as he warmed up. Now Peter's blood painted the apartment and Sylar retreated, snarling after his obsession with hurting Peter got him shot for a second time. He threw his attackers into the wall and fled, losing his accomplice in the process.

As Peter's body stitched itself back together, he reflected that at least no one would suspect that he and Sylar had been fucking lately.

* * *

In fact, Peter wasn't sure they'd ever fuck again. He was still mad - now not just about the library incident, but about how sadistic Sylar had gotten when he realized he could hurt Peter without damaging him permanently. Just thinking about it gave him phantom pains along his skin where he'd been cut.

They relocated the man Sylar had been after and turned Leonard Cushing back over to the Company. He was one of their agents with a history of going AWOL. Peter didn't know what they did with him, but he wasn't getting loose again any time soon. Life went on. Peter went back to work at the hospital.

He was walking back from the subway at 1:30 am after an excruciating shift that had run late. He should have been sore, but the regeneration was good for alleviating minor aches and pains as much as major ones. He was still tired and upset. He didn't think he'd done a good job. He'd made a couple bad calls because he'd been distracted. He didn't have his head together lately and he knew who he blamed for that: Sylar.

He was definitely in a mood as he stomped down the sidewalk. He saw the subject of his ire at a great distance, as Sylar was making no effort to conceal himself. He just stood at the entrance to Peter's apartment, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, looking quite relaxed. Peter stopped, more than half a block away. _Yep, that's definitely him._

He could call for help. Hiro could get there immediately. He could run away. Sylar might not follow. Or…

He stalked forward, feeling his heart start beating faster, his breathing speeding up. He was angry and his body knew it. He walked right up to Sylar, tossed his bag down and slugged him just as Sylar started to straighten. Of all things, he seemed surprised by the blow, so Peter gave him three or four more to make him more familiar with the idea.

"Ow! Jesus Peter! Stop it!"

Peter hit him twice more, finally succeeding in knocking Sylar down against the door of the apartment building. He grabbed Sylar's collar and leaned down, snarling, "You think you can just fuck me and leave without so much as a good-bye, huh? Then beat the crap out of me? I would have let you go if you hadn't kept coming back to cut me up!"

Sylar gave him a confused look. "What the hell, Peter? You could take it. I just wanted to-"

"Who gives a shit? Fuck you and what you want, anyway. You arrogant bastard." He let him go, picked up his bag and kicked Sylar out of the way of the door for good measure. He stomped up the stairs, still angry, repeating to himself everything he'd just said, fuming.

He unlocked his apartment and tossed his bag down. He went in the kitchen and clattered around, thinking he'd heat up a can of soup for a late dinner. Maybe he was making too much noise, but he didn't hear his door unlock itself and swing open. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he looked over and saw Sylar standing in the door to his kitchen watching him.

"What the hell, Sylar? Don't you fucking knock? Get the fuck out of here!" His mood hadn't improved much and now he was enraged at the invasion of privacy. "If you haven't noticed, I don't want to see you anymore." _I was an idiot for even thinking the bastard might feel anything for me._

Behind Sylar, the front door swung shut by itself - an eloquent expression of his feelings on Peter telling him to leave. He smirked, just in case Peter didn't get the message. "I don't think what you want has anything to do with it."

Peter's voice dropped suddenly and he got right in Sylar's face. "What the fuck is this? You think because you want to fuck me you can do it wherever and whenever you want?"

Sylar blinked, looking caught between smug and uncertain. "Something like that, yeah."

"It's not going to go that way," Peter hissed, and stabbed Sylar with the epi-pen of neutralizing compound that he'd carried ever since the ambush less than a week before. Sylar jerked back, but he was too late.

"What the…?"

Peter brandished the pen in front of him. "No more powers. Let's see how you like it now." While Sylar stood there dumbly, Peter hit him across the face again and this time the pain and shock knocked Sylar down immediately. Sylar wiped the corner of his mouth where Peter's blow had caused his teeth to cut the inside of his cheek.

Peter took a threatening step forward as if to hit him again and Sylar scrambled up, retreating into the living room. Peter followed him, glowering, then looked at the front door. He walked away from it, circling the room. Sylar kept his distance and let Peter herd him to where his back was to the door. Peter stopped then.

Sylar glanced back at it. He sniffed and reached up and rubbed his nose, then his cheek where he'd been hit and it still wasn't healing. "You want me to leave?" he asked in a clipped tone.

"What do you think?" Peter asked. "Does what I want even matter to you?"

Sylar blinked and looked at the door again. "You're going to take my powers and… that's it? You're just going to make me leave?"

Peter took a deep breath. He walked over and sat down on the couch, crossing his legs and leaning back. He draped his arm across the back and settled in. "I'm not going to _make_ you do anything, Sylar."

Sylar moved away from the door hesitantly. Peter's brows climbed slightly and it finally occurred to him to wonder why Sylar had been waiting for him. "Did you come here to have sex me?" he asked.

"Yes." Sylar sat down on the other end of the couch, near the edge, poised in case he needed to bolt.

"And what?" Peter asked. "Were you just going to rape me? Have at it like in the library?"

"I didn't think that was rape in the library," Sylar said, managing to sound offended and questioning at the same time.

"No, it wasn't," Peter admitted. "But what were you about to do here?"

"Well I… I mean… I… I wasn't…" He shrugged, looking away. "I thought you'd like it."

Peter was silent for a long moment, thinking about how much he wanted the physical contact, how much he wouldn't have minded the sex if he just wasn't so wound up otherwise. He thought about how everyone else in his life had hosed him over and fate itself seemed out to get him most of the time. He'd been given these wonderful abilities and then robbed of them. Now he had this crappy consolation prize and the guy with all the abilities, Sylar, still wasn't satisfied with what he had. _Greedy bastard!_

Peter bit out, "You're not going to get to fuck me tonight, so just forget about that." He was quiet a bit more. Sylar nodded, head hanging. Peter swallowed. "If you want to have sex though, I'm okay with fucking you."

Sylar twitched and drew in a little, his eyes darting back and forth. Finally they rested on Peter's face. "What?"

"You heard me. You've got some serious sucking up to do and some really serious learning on how to manage relationships. You don't wait outside my door. People could have seen you! Do you have any idea what kind of shit will come down on me if people find out we're doing this? No one will ever trust me again."

Sylar's mouth made an "oh" shape.

"And don't cut me up so much next time. Don't run the hell off after we have sex. At least make sure I'm okay and everything. Like you did the first time. You were nice then. At the library you were an insensitive ass. I hadn't even so much as stood up before you took off!"

"Um… kay. There… you'll… um… you want to fuck me?"

Peter shrugged and looked away. _So that's all he took away from that? Did he hear me at all? Is this even worthwhile? _"It's not a punishment. Yeah, I'd like to. If you'll let me." He exhaled sharply. "It's probably a bad idea. Never mind."

"No… no. I'd… that's okay." After a beat he added, "When will my powers come back?"

"Couple hours. Maybe less." Peter looked back at him. "Have you ever had anal sex? As the receiver, I mean."

"No."

Peter shook his head. "I'm in a really bad mood. It's a bad idea. Never mind."

"Peter… I'd like to."

Peter looked at him through narrowed eyes, wondering if he could keep himself from hurting the other man. He thought so, but... "Your first time shouldn't be like that."

"My whole life has been like that. So's yours. It's not like destiny hasn't fucked you in the ass a few times. I doubt it hung around to see if you were okay either."

Peter stared at him for a moment, then laughed out loud at the ridiculous image that presented to his mind.

Sylar smiled and gestured broadly, "Come on, Pete. I'm here. I'm offering. You want it. And who says we'll ever have the chance again? You shouldn't care. You don't _need to_."

_No, I shouldn't,_ Peter told himself. Sylar was a serial killer, who had gone to that apartment with the intention of committing murder and stealing someone's ability, after assaulting and traumatizing the intended victim's family. And here he was in Peter's living room, stripped of powers, practically helpless by Sylar's standards, offering himself. And Peter wanted it. His fists clenched in tension. He looked away. _I ought to take him in._

Sylar slid down the couch to him and touched Peter on the knee, then raised his hand to the middle of Peter's chest. Peter shifted a little uncomfortably. His cock twitched with a life of its own, like it detecting the scent of possible sex in the air. _I could always take him in later… after…_ He shifted again, uneasy.

Sylar pressed his body against Peter's, rolling himself over so his leg curled over Peter's. His hand crept up to Peter's neck and caressed lightly. He leaned in slowly, jerking back as if afraid Peter would hurt him when Peter shifted again. When nothing untoward happened, he leaned in again and kissed Peter's cheek. All Peter could do was shut his eyes and clench and unclench his fists while Sylar gave him small kisses and careful touches and pressed the warmth of his body against him.

He didn't stop it. If something bad happened to Sylar, it didn't really matter. No one innocent or uninvolved was getting drug into this. He could screw Sylar without feeling guilty, without letting his heart get too attached, because Sylar was so easy to hate. He swallowed, wondering what had happened to him that he was deliberately courting a relationship with someone like this killer, the bogey-man of the super-powered world.

He let Sylar go on kissing his cheek, his jaw, his chin and his neck, nibbling his ear, stroking his chest and finally rubbing his groin, tracing out the hardening form of Peter's erection. Peter swallowed and panted lightly, biting his lip. Sylar's clever fingers unfastened his jeans and pushed them down. He grinned suddenly at the brilliant red of Peter's thong.

"Oh, that's beautiful, Peter. I came here to apologize, you know. Or at least, you should know. It wasn't just to have sex with you. I knew I did too much - I got carried away." He leaned in and kissed the corner of Peter's mouth, then licked it with a single quick dart of his tongue. "I'm… I'm s…"

Peter gave him a moment, but Sylar never said it. He went back to kissing him and fondling Peter's crotch. Peter shrugged him off and stood up, fastening his pants again. Sylar was silent. "Come on in the bedroom," Peter said. Sylar followed.

Peter pointed at the bed. "Undress." He rummaged in his nightstand for lube and tossed it on the bed. Then he disrobed and climbed on the bed over Sylar, kissing his mouth. After a few moments, he lowered himself and Sylar put his arms around him, stroking his back. A few moments after that, they rolled over side by side and continued pleasing one another. Peter rescued the lube from under his shoulder and dispensed some. He lathered Sylar's cock with it, making the other man groan. Sylar came forward and kissed Peter's neck, biting him hard.

"Ow!"

"You'll heal," Sylar growled.

Peter laughed. Sylar's quiet, submissive mood had apparently passed now that they were in bed and he was sure to get what he wanted. He was still, after all, an arrogant prick. Peter gave himself more lube and reached down further, hooking his hand up under Sylar's balls. Sylar raised his leg cooperatively, but his face became less certain. Peter watched his expression carefully as he applied the lube thoroughly. It was wonderful to see the play of emotions and sensations, the slow building of trust between them. He still had no idea why he was doing this though. _I am so fucked up._

Somehow he just really couldn't hold onto that thought as he slid a finger in and Sylar's mouth opened slightly. Peter covered it with his own, sliding his tongue into his mouth, finding it as surprisingly receptive as his ass. Peter probed him with another finger and then a third, feeling him open more accommodatingly than he'd expected. Sylar as a bottom was hard to imagine, but he was sure that in a few moments, he'd have no trouble remembering the image.

He rolled onto his back and stroked himself with the hand that was wet with lube. "Climb on me, baby."

"You're going to call me baby?" Sylar straddled him anyway.

"Yeah, baby, I am. Slide down a little here." He guided Sylar down. He watched his face again, fascinated by the show. Sylar blinked and his mouth fell open. He might have been open for fingers, and he was certainly still open _enough,_ but obviously the sensation was different.

"Oh… oh! Oh!" He tightened and tensed.

"Relax, relax. Up and down, little at a time."

"Fuck that," Sylar growled and forced himself down on Peter so much it hurt _Peter_.

It hurt Sylar too. He clenched his teeth and said, "No wonder people don't like to do this!" he hissed, but held his position. "Now fuck me." His voice shook a little.

Peter swallowed, regeneration having taken care of his own issues, but not his partner's. He moved up and down in tiny fractions.

"I said **fuck me!**"

Peter laughed a little. "Bossy bottom, much?" He brought a hand up from Sylar's hips to his cock, making him twitch. "Easy, tiger." He didn't bother to ask if it still hurt. He could see from Sylar's face that it did. He wasn't about to pull out though. If Sylar wanted him out, he could lift up. Peter stroked him in steady pulls, rubbing his thumb across the top with each motion, giving Sylar something to feel other than his distressed sphincter. He kept the other hand at Sylar's hip, moving him just a little.

Sylar blinked and began to breathe harder. After a while, his hips hitched almost involuntarily into Peter's hand. Peter could feel that he'd loosened a little and at that motion, apparently Sylar realized it too. He started shifting up and down a little at a time, then more, then faster.

"Oh my God that feels… _**good**_…"

"Yeah," Peter said sarcastically, "It's no wonder people don't like to do this."

"Shut up," Sylar said sharply, but his actions contrasted with his words as he leaned forward to touch Peter's chest and pet him. He leaned into the hand that was gripping him. Peter took over the movements of his hips, pushing into his tight ass. He was as loose as he'd been to start with, before he'd tensed up, gotten stage fright, become pissy at being called a baby, or whatever.

"Come on, baby. Come for me," Peter crooned. Sylar smiled a little at the appellation this time. He rolled his eyes a little and sagged forward a little more, relaxing and melting. Peter worked him harder and faster, watching as a light sheen of sweat broke out over the other man, followed by a flush across his pale skin. Sylar put his hands on Peter's shoulders and hung his head slightly, watching as Peter's hand worked up and down him, feeling it as Peter's dick pushed in and out of him. He drew in shuddering breaths as his hips began to tremble just a little.

"Oh Peter… Oh… Nnng!" And with that he came, spurting over Peter's hand and onto Sylar's chest, there to drip down onto Peter's stomach. As Peter kept pumping into him, Sylar looked confused for a moment. "You…?"

"Lean back on me. All the way. It's okay."

Sylar looked dazed, but he did as directed. He moved back, taking Peter all the way inside. Peter thrust into him harder and Sylar tried to match his pace. Mostly he managed it.

"All the way back," Peter instructed. "Brace yourself on my thighs." Sylar did. Peter was in so deep it was heavenly. He gripped Sylar's knees as the other man bounced up and down on him. He came moments later, buried within him.

Peter sighed and fell back, feeling the endorphins wash through him. "Oh… baby, that was so good."

Sylar waited until Peter urged him off, as if he wasn't sure at what point dismounting was polite or acceptable. They cleaned up. Sylar pulled his clothes on. Peter came out and watched that. "You're leaving?" he asked in a tone that added _'already'_ to his question.

Sylar shrugged. "Thank you? I'm supposed to say that? Are you okay? You look okay."

Peter tilted his head, trying to decide if Sylar was being insulting or just dense.

Sylar fastened his pants and walked closer, holding his shirt. "I'll be back, okay? Some other time? Can I? Can I come here?"

_Dense then. No social skills. Hardly surprising, for a serial killer._ Peter found himself saying, "It's okay. Yeah, you can come back." _Why the hell am I telling him that? Why am I even involved with this guy? God… I really enjoyed fucking him._ Peter stood there with mixed emotions, not sure of what he wanted to do. Not sure at all.

"Still think I'm an arrogant bastard?" Sylar asked, smiling arrogantly enough to make Peter snort. He pulled on his shirt.

"Yes. You are. I don't know why I put up with you."

Sylar swayed on his feet for a moment, as if undecided as well. Finally he stepped over to Peter and bent for a kiss, saying, "I'm glad you do. Thank you." They kissed and he left.

Peter sighed, wondering how long he was going to be able to keep up this charade. At least he was in a better mood. He smiled to himself and flopped down on the bed, still naked. It smelled like sex and was damp in a few spots. He pulled the sheet out and wrapped himself in it. He was going to have to wash it anyway, but for the moment, he held it around himself and didn't feel so alone.


	4. Frenemies Greenhouse

**Title:** Frenemies: Greenhouse  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters/Pairings:** Peter, Sylar  
**Summary:** Peter goes to warn a special that she's on Sylar's list, but finds Sylar got there before him. Sylar gives him a simple choice: join me, or not. Peter can't say no.

**Warnings:** Slash, explicit sexual content, some swearing, generic violence, blood with kissing, limited masochism, rough sex, unbeta'd.

**Notes:** This is **so** not the chapter I sat down expecting to write. I expected the scene below to take half a page at most - you know five or six paragraphs and that's it. Then I was going to write a handful of other similar scenes to establish depth of relationship before Lornrocks' chapter. So, now I need to write all those other scenes because this one took on such a life of its own.

* * *

Peter walked through the house. It was empty, but the coffee pot was still warm; the television was on. Sarah should be around here somewhere. She'd been expecting him since he'd called to warn her about Sylar. Movement out the kitchen window caught his eye. There was a long greenhouse out back. Someone was in it. He opened the back door and walked out.

He didn't bother trying to call out. Next to the greenhouse door was a water cooler running on full, rattling and whirring and making a tremendous racket. He opened the door and saw a familiar form at the other end of the greenhouse, washing his hands of blood in a bucket of water. On the floor between them lay Sarah's body. Sylar had already struck.

Peter bared his teeth and strode forward decisively, stepping past the corpse. With all the noise, even with his enhanced hearing, Sylar didn't hear him until Peter was grabbing his shoulder and swinging him around, hitting him across the face with his fist. Peter still had regeneration, but it wasn't what he wanted right now. As Sylar staggered, he took his shoulder and stole a different ability from him.

Sylar didn't realize that, or perhaps he didn't know Peter had been still carrying that so-useful self-healing power. He lashed out with telekinesis, slashing Peter across the face from cheekbone to jaw, a cut deep enough to scrape bone and penetrate his mouth.

Peter fell back with a cry, then struck out in return, also with telekinesis. Sylar was slammed against a shelf of garden supplies, with pots and soil and hand tools raining down around him. He lurched off of it and into Peter, grabbing him with both hands. He began to freeze him. Peter brought his hands up to Sylar's wrists and then made a rapid motion from Sylar's wrists to shoulder, using the telekinesis to cut flesh and clothing all the way up.

Sylar recoiled, trying to give himself a moment to heal. He fell over a wheelbarrow. It and him went to the ground. Peter yanked him up with the ability, holding him an inch or two off the ground. Sylar started to try something else, but Peter snapped, "Don't!" and Sylar didn't. His arms finished healing.

Peter looked over at the dead woman, his chest rising and falling. He looked back at Sylar, who of all things, gave him an apologetic smile. Peter demanded, "What did she have that you wanted so bad you murdered her?"

Sylar tried to shrug, but he couldn't manage it. "The ability to decompose things rapidly. She was making compost. I don't really think it's an ability I'll use much. But it's nice to have."

Peter's hand shook with anger and he put Sylar back on the floor, releasing him. He touched his forehead. "You murdered her for something that's _'nice to have'_? That you might never even use?"

"I've killed people for less reason."

Peter stared at him, disbelieving.

Sylar raised a hand off to one side and Peter watched it warily. His finger twitched and the water cooler cut out suddenly. In the resulting quiet, Sylar spoke softly in a sudden change of manner. "Peter, do you remember when you first got your ability? The original one, the good one?"

Peter blinked at the change, then nodded.

"Do you remember how wonderful that felt? How alive you felt? How it made you complete? How much it seemed like you had a purpose, like there was a meaning in your life, maybe even something… something that a religious person would describe as divine?"

Peter frowned and exhaled. Yes, he remembered that. He remembered it clearly. He ached for it. It was gone though, stolen when his father drained him. His family had betrayed him so many times…

Sylar searched his expression for a moment, as Peter didn't answer, then Sylar nodded as if all of Peter's mental cogs and gears and flywheels suddenly made sense. "Peter," he said, voice deepening. Even softer, Sylar said, "Every time it's like that. Every time."

Peter swallowed. _What would I be willing to do to have that feeling back?_ _Over and over again… every time._ His chest was still rising and falling.

"Fuck me," Sylar said, his voice still soft.

"What?" Peter wasn't nearly as shocked or dismayed as he thought he should be.

"I asked you to fuck me, Peter. Now. While I'm still feeling it. You're not going to take me in. We both know that. You can either leave here and be jealous of me and my power forever, or you can join me. It's not like I haven't been looking for allies. Haven't you been looking for someone? You said there was no one else."

There was a long pause and Peter's mind seemed full of nothing but static. He couldn't think. He couldn't decide to leave, but he wanted to. He needed to. But he couldn't do it.

As if on autopilot, Peter walked over to the other man. He touched Sylar's hip, his mouth opening to say something. Peter didn't know what he wanted to say. After a beat, Sylar leaned down and kissed him, making his face hurt, tasting the blood in his mouth from the cut on his cheek. It hurt, but Peter didn't bother to swap for regeneration and heal it. He deserved the pain if he wasn't going to take him in. For _**murder**_, for Christ's sake.

When they parted, all Peter could think to say was, "Are you still carrying around that lube?"

Sylar nodded and smiled sheepishly, producing a single-use sized packet from his jeans. He handed it to Peter and opened his jeans, shoving them down his legs and stepping out of one side. He turned and spread his legs, leaning on the high wooden counter of the greenhouse. Peter opened his own pants and pushed them down enough for what he wanted. He looked back over his shoulder at Sarah's body. _I'm going to hell for this. I am. I've gone crazy. I have._

He turned back and cupped one side of Sylar's ass. It felt so perfect - taut and firm and soft and yielding all at the same time - so very alive. He coated himself with lube and sent an exploring finger into Sylar's body, relishing the man's responsive sounds and wriggles of movement. He worked in a second, then hooked them downward, probing and finding what he was looking for. They didn't teach prostate exam procedures in nursing school or paramedic training, but a thorough knowledge of anatomy **did** come in useful at times.

Sylar's head came up as his back arched and he groaned, his voice loud in the now-quiet greenhouse. Peter stroked that soft, tender bulb of sensitive flesh over and over again until Sylar was whimpering and inarticulately begging for mercy. He stopped, letting the other man get some of his sense back. He wanted to hear what he was saying - it was coming out so garbled.

"Oh God, please Peter, please, that's fantastic, please, do me, I want you, I can't stand it, that's great, please…" Sylar paused for several ragged breaths. "I need you," he whispered.

Peter gave him a last internal touch, cementing in his mind where that spot was, memorizing what he'd been doing. Sylar's whole body jerked. Peter lined himself up and began to ease inside, reminding himself this was only the second time Sylar had ever had anything in his ass like this. Like before, he felt the other man's body begin to resist him reflexively, since he didn't have the experience to do otherwise. Stimulation would help distract him.

Peter focused the telekinesis, replicating his touch of before. For a moment he thought he was overdoing it as Sylar stiffened and rose up, but then he settled back with the most wanton, guttural, open-mouthed cry of pleasure Peter had ever heard. Peter slid in unimpeded.

"Oh yeah," he murmured. He couldn't go fast while he was keeping up the steady stroking, touching Sylar inside with his own signature ability, caressing and prodding and arousing him. Sylar made insensible sounds, trying to hunch forward and back, fucking himself on Peter's cock, whining at the use he was being put to. He couldn't get enough; he couldn't get it fast enough. He came in a rush, crying out and shuddering, lowering himself limply on the counter when the last aftershock had passed, head turned and cheek down, whimpering in total submission.

It hit Peter really clearly at that point who he was fucking and how. He grinned and shook his head. The smile hurt. His face hurt. He liked the pain. He dropped the telekinesis and started to shove hard, fast and bruisingly into Sylar's body.

"You're a fucking killer, you know that?" Peter told him, gripping Sylar's hips the better to yank him back into the thrusts. "A psychopath. You're crazy. You disgust me. You make me disgust myself. There is something seriously sick with me for being with you, for doing this. Something wrong with both us, with everything here. Whole world's fucking fucked up. Ah!" He rammed into Sylar as hard as he could, rocking the entire counter. A potted succulent fell off the end. He didn't give a damn. Sylar mewled at the rough treatment and it was definitely an encouraging sound.

Peter kept talking, insulting and foul-mouthed, giving vent to his anger at himself, Sylar, his life and the world at large. He slammed all the hate and fury into his actions, channeling it through his hips, fucking Sylar until the other man was making sounds like sobs, unable to get enough of a breath, clinging to the wood of the counter with white knuckles, letting Peter have him as an outlet for his rage and passion and frustrated dreams of a better world and making a difference in it.

When Peter finally came, it was with a growling sense of satisfaction and dominance. He reached out and grabbed the back of Sylar's neck, jerking him around, watching him flinch at the sudden disengagement of their bodies. He re-engaged at the mouth though, kissing him deep and hard even though it hurt, _because_ it hurt. Sylar took him slackly at first, accepting the oral violation as willingly and openly as he'd taken the anal. Then Sylar began to press harder against him, his tongue fighting back and probing into Peter's mouth, bringing little shocks of pain with each probably-intentional swipe at his cheek. He could taste the blood.

He pushed Sylar away when it became too overpowering, when the taste began to revolt him. He staggered back, trying to regain himself. _What the hell is happening to me? Peter… I'm Peter… this isn't who I am… is it?_ He stared at Sylar, who looked so thoroughly tousled and fucked and sexy that Peter actually entertained thoughts of doing him again before he caught himself.

He wheeled and looked at the body on the ground. He couldn't process. He put his clothes to rights and stumbled out. He thought he needed to be sick, or at least he should be. Instead he felt more alive than he had in years… the only thing that compared was when he'd thrown himself off that building, hoping that Nathan would catch him, hoping that he'd fly.

Sylar was going to catch him. He was just as sure of Sylar now, as he had been of Nathan then. The man had gotten under his skin somehow, into his blood. Even now he could feel it running hot through him, like he was on fire from the inside out. He had no idea what it meant. He went home.


	5. Frenemies Connections

**Title:** Frenemies: Connections  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters/Pairings:** Peter, Sylar, cameos by Angela, Noah, Matt, Hiro.  
**Summary:** Time passes and things happen in Peter's life. The next chapters in this series would be Lornrocks' two fics.  
**Warnings:** Slash, explicit sexual content, some swearing, generic violence, rough sex, unbeta'd.  
**Notes:** Written in present tense. I have no idea why. It just seemed right. First time I've ever written that way.

_

* * *

Sylar must have decayed the body,_ Peter thinks, because all the team finds when they go back to check a few hours later is a small pile of dark, loamy soil where the corpse once lay. No one even considers the timeline, or that Peter's story doesn't really make sense. He told them he'd gone to check on her, seen movement in the greenhouse, had a fight with Sylar, and then the monster ran off.

They don't ask him what ability he has now or why Sylar would leave him alive. They don't think about him at all, which bothers Peter. A lot. He's just a resource to them, but not even one they're paying much attention to. They're all angry that Sylar "won" this round and they talk about it like it's some kind of game with winners and losers. He scuffs his shoe through the rich humus Sarah left behind. _I haven't lost. They haven't lost. She's the only one here who lost._ He sighs and hates Sylar for all the confused feelings he's having.

He rescues the succulent that was knocked off the bench while he and Sylar had sex. He restores it to a new pot and puts it back up in the light, giving it some water. Ando is laughing in the background about how dirty his shoes are now and how he is a 'man of the earth'. None of them know what it is they're standing in. Peter decides not to tell them.

* * *

They're fucking again, which is wonderful. Sylar squats above him, having declared that he really likes the position. It gives him control, which he wants. He's obsessive about it. Peter doesn't mind. He came home to find Sylar poking around in his bedroom and when confronted about the home invasion, Sylar reminded him smugly (nearly everything he did was smug) that Peter had told him not to wait outside.

Peter got angry at being wrong and he didn't really care if it was hypocritical of himself. He let it out on Sylar and hit him. Sylar hit him back, an open-handed slap, which strangely reminded Peter of how differently Sylar had fought the team Peter was part of and how he'd fought Peter himself when he had regeneration. Peter still had the red mark on his face. The other side was still decorated by the stitches for the cut Sylar had given him last time.

They'd come together after that exchange of blows, grappling and fighting. Shoved backwards, Peter had tripped, falling on the bed. He'd started to get back up, but his jeans came undone by themselves and he froze. He'd been planning on kicking Sylar's ass good and hard. But… then Sylar was jerking his own clothes off and Peter just sat there on the bed dumbly until the other man climbed over him.

At that point, all he could think was that _yeah, fighting in the bedroom probably isn't a good idea… might break something._ The next thing he knows, they're fucking and it's awesome. Peter puts back his head and basks in it, letting it happen, loving it, thinking this is way better than fighting. His face still stings - both sides. He reaches out and touches Sylar, feeling the tingle of ability transfer.

Sylar must feel it too, because he groans and his head comes up. He looks at Peter and pants, grinning, "You're going to use me as a fucking power bank while we're having sex? Oh my God, Peter. That is so sexy and fucked up." He laughs and falls back again, bracing himself on Peter's thighs so as to take him all the way in.

Peter's face heals and then he swaps again for telekinesis. Sylar comes this time, as if from that sensation alone.

* * *

Peter is sitting in the Petrelli mansion, listening as his mother tells lies about his father to some executives from Yamagato Fellowship. Hiro sits across from him, reading a comic book, of all things. Important decisions are being made and Hiro isn't paying any attention at all. Peter watches as his mother extracts the promises of assistance and information that she wants, getting permission for containment facilities to be operated in Japan and offering cash from the Company's extensive coffers of gold.

Peter sighs, thinking about how Hiro's little team has become no better than a bag-and-tag group at the disposal of the Company. Hiro finishes his comic book and pulls out his iPhone. He begins playing a game on it. He glances up at Peter's growl of displeasure, but he doesn't see what Peter is upset about. He goes back to his amusement.

* * *

At various points in the past, Peter had trusted Noah Bennet. He seemed like a good father, or at least well intentioned. Sometimes he gave people breaks. Today Peter watches silently from the doorway as Noah checks for a pulse on the young woman he just shot, probably fatally. He shot her for the crime of having Intuitive Aptitude - Sylar's ability.

Harmless little clockwork toys litter the room, on shelves and across the floor. She's collapsed on at least three. Noah nods, satisfied with his work. "She's dead."

In a quiet voice stripped of emotion, Peter asks, "Why didn't you tell me we were coming here to kill her?"

Noah looks at him blankly, as if surprised Peter would even ask such a thing. "Would you have come?"

"No."

Noah shrugs and gives him a gesture that says, 'well, that's why.'

Peter can hardly believe it. "Why did you have me come at all?" He doesn't know why he asks that, as he's pretty sure he knows, but he needs to hear it.

Noah shrugs. "We didn't have any proof she'd gained any abilities, but it seemed possible. If she did, it seemed most likely that you'd be able to borrow them and turn them against her. You're our most flexible asset in that regard. One of these days we're going to catch up to Sylar…" His voice trails off wistfully and Peter winces. He feels like there's a knife twisting in his gut.

Noah sees his expression, but misunderstands the cause. The older man tells him, "We'll get him one of these days. He can't run forever. We've got him isolated, so on the run that he can't form connections, can't make any ties. Every time he gets an ally or a friend, we strip that away. People can't stay sane when they're being hunted like that. He'll make a mistake eventually."

Peter nods.

* * *

They run through several positions in the empty stockroom, starting with Sylar bent over some boxes of metal parts and ending with Peter sitting on a box while Sylar holds the shelves on either side of them, raising and lowering himself on Peter's shaft.

Peter kisses his back and runs his hands up and down the smooth expanse of skin. He snakes his arms around Sylar's front, tweaking his nipples and getting a virtual chirp out of Sylar. Or maybe a squeak, but it sounds weirdly bird-like. Peter grins and does it a few more times to hear Sylar's noises.

"I love the sounds you make," he murmurs.

"Fuck you…" Sylar says and he falls silent, made self-conscious by Peter's comment.

That pisses Peter off and he starts working Sylar hard to force sex noises out of him. He manages it only at the end, where what starts as a choked whimper turns into a groan and then Sylar gives up and yells. His cum splatters across the dusty floor. He starts to get up, but Peter grabs him. They struggle for a moment:

Peter: "I'm not done."

Sylar: "I _am_."

Peter: "Get back here. Come on."

Sylar: "Use your hand."

Peter: "God-damnit! Just because you're-"

Sylar: "Let go of me!"

Peter trips Sylar intentionally and he falls, hitting his head on the industrial style metal shelving as he goes. He's too rattled to stop Peter from shoving his head down and yanking his ass up, then burying himself inside the man again. Sylar grunts as he comes to, his face smeared with dust and his own cum, being fucked vigorously by Peter, who has taken telekinesis again and pinned him to the floor with it.

Sylar could fight him. He could. Instead he croons softly and uses what mobility Peter has left him to push back rhythmically, meeting his thrusts. Peter calms down, but he still fucks him hard.

* * *

Peter is staring at Matt Parkman's face and everything is suddenly crystal clear. Parkman's mouth hangs open in shock as he realizes that Peter just took his ability, apparently just for the hell of it. Which is a pretty good summation of why, though there's a little more to it today. Peter's an ability whore. He likes taking different ones and Matt's ability has always been amusing. While he's touching Matt, he has instant insight to his thoughts and that's what he really wants today.

Matt runs and suddenly Peter wishes he still had telekinesis. He dashes after him, chasing him through the house. Thankfully it's empty - Janice and little Matty are elsewhere. Hiro is waiting outside, engrossed in some new game on his iPhone. Peter doubts he'll notice that Matt and Peter are fighting like mad just a few score of feet away.

Matt's going for a gun. Peter saw that much in his mind before he broke contact. He can't read him casually unless they're touching. What he saw motivates Peter a lot. Matt had called Angela, telling her he had painted the future again and had information that was vital to bringing in Sylar. She'd called Hiro and asked him to go by and pick the paintings up, because Matt wouldn't give her details over the phone, saying it was too sensitive. Peter volunteered to go along, curious about what Matt had found… and concerned.

No one told Matt that Peter might be there. He'd called Angela because she'd need to know if they were to use Peter's relationship with Sylar to catch the man. Now they are in Matt's bedroom and Peter rams his body into the bigger man, slamming him against the wall and making it impossible for him to get into the nightstand. It also puts them in contact again. Matt can't hold up the mental barriers against direct touch.

Peter's not as good as Matt is at using the ability, but he's a lot more invested in the outcome. Matt hates Sylar. So does Peter, and Matt sees that. It confuses him.

_Why, Peter?_ he asks him mentally, not understanding even though he can see more than he wants to.

_You will never tell anyone or I swear, I will get Rene's ability and erase every memory of everyone you've ever loved._ Peter doesn't know why he picks that particular threat. He doesn't contemplate how parallel his feelings for Sylar are for Matt's love for his families and past lovers. All he thinks is that it's a threat that will frighten Matt and it's one he's willing to carry through on if he has to. He'd push a thought of mental command or compulsion if he could, but Matt would only unravel it later. The threat is real. Matt sees that. It's suddenly not so important to bring Sylar in.

At least… Matt thinks to him, _Sylar must never touch me or my family in any way. Ever. If he so much as shows up where he's not supposed to be, the deal's off. Got it?_

_Got it._ Peter lets him go. Thinking that Matt is willing to sell out any number of people he doesn't know in order to protect the few he does. Peter can't really blame him. His own moral compass is spinning out of control. "Where are the paintings?"

"In the basement."

Peter goes with him, scowling at the wall, wondering what's bricked up behind it now, if anything. He doesn't inquire. Honestly, he doesn't want to know. He watches while Matt slathers paint all over a rendering of Peter and Sylar having sex and another of the two of them facing off with what looked like agents of Homeland Security. A figure that might have been Noah Bennet was in the background with a cell phone held to his ear.

"There's only the two?"

"Yes," Matt answers. Peter puts out his hand in a simple gesture. Matt looks away a few times, then takes it. Peter checks. Matt was telling the truth.

"Okay," Peter says, releasing him. "I'm going to tell my mother you had a painting of Sylar in a greenhouse turning a woman's body to dirt and another of him facing off with some agents. Nothing about me."

"What are you going to tell her about the paintings themselves? She wanted to see them."

"How old is Matty? Four?" Parkman nods so Peter continues, "Fine. Tell her he got down here and painted over it, ruined them. That's the story."

Matt nods again. The two of them stand silently watching the paint dry. Matt asks quietly, "Why Sylar, Peter? Does this have something to do with Nathan?"

Peter's teeth grind together, but he before he says anything, he looks hard at Matt Parkman. Matt never trusted Sylar at any stage, though honestly he was probably right in that. Even now though, there's no understanding in his face, no sympathy, not even really curiosity. He's looking for something to validate his own opinions. All of Peter's empathy, all of these years, just makes him really skilled at telling how shallow and prejudiced people really are, how eaten up with hate and fear and selfishness. Not that he's any different. Sylar isn't different either, except that he admits to it. There's something refreshing in that honesty.

After a long moment pondering Matt's question, Peter says, "Nathan has nothing to do with it." He turns and walks out. Hiro doesn't even question the explanation. Angela doesn't either, but the look she gives Peter makes him wonder if she already knew. He doesn't ask and even though he has Parkman's ability, he doesn't check. She doesn't get to sit in judgment over him. It was her orders that made Sylar, after all.


	6. Won't Stop Until You're Shaking

**Author:** Lornrocks. Republished with permission and a couple small edits for grammar and spacing.

**Title:** Won't Stop Until You're Shaking  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Characters/Pairings:** Peter, Sylar, mentions of others  
**Summary:** Based on this prompt: _Peter gets injured one way or another but insists that he doesn't want to take regeneration. Sylar accepts. Cue very careful, gentle sex. And I'd really like this to be in some wacky universe where Sylar is still a bad guy, but he and Peter are secretly seeing each other. Pleaseandthankyou!_  
**Warnings:** Possible spoilers, slash, explicit mentions of sex, some swearing, and unbeta'd.  
**Notes:** I'm not sure if I like this or not, but whatever. I think their relationship is complicated, for sure. 

Peter decides one day that he really, really needs to start minding his own business. He decides this as he lays, sprawled on his back, in some alley. His wallet is missing and he's pretty sure he has several bruised, if not cracked, ribs. His knuckles are bloody; he face bruised; and above all, he thinks that someone dislocated his right knee.

It fucking hurts.

Thankfully, someone finds him and he gets taken to the very hospital he works at, and when he gets there, Hesam shakes his head in disbelief.

"What happened?" he asks, and Peter just laughs through his drug induced haze.

"I tried to stop a mugging," he mumbles, and Hesam just gently pats his non-injured knee and disappears down the corridor, probably looking for better pain meds.

Peter convinces them to let him go home later that day, once they determine most of his injuries are superficial, and he limps home. He's barely back in his apartment for more than ten minutes when he hears a familiar thunking noise coming from his bedroom. He doesn't have to turn around to know that Sylar is now standing in his kitchen, watching him.

"Don't worry, no one saw me," Sylar is saying, but when Peter turns around, the other man stops mid thought.

"Jesus Peter, what happened?"

Peter's brow furrows and he winces at the sudden pain in his face, and in a second, Sylar is there, helping him limp over to the kitchen table so he can sit down in one of the mismatched chairs.

"I tried to stop a mugging," Peter sighs, and Sylar's eyes are roving all over his body, cataloging every single bruise, cut and scrape.

"How many were there?"

"There was only one at first. Then two more showed up."

Peter tries to shrug but his shoulder feels stiff, so he just sits there, wishing he had filled that prescription of pain killers when he had the chance. He looks up, briefly, and notices the dark, calculating look in his friend's eyes.

"Don't even think about going after them, Sylar."

Peter swears that Sylar is actually pouting, but he mumbles, "Yeah yeah, an eye for an eye..." before reaching over and sliding their palms together.

"Take my regeneration, at least. You look horrible."

Peter doesn't want to take the regen. While he is in horrible pain, he'd really rather that he feel this, so he can remember. It's a human thing, he thinks.

"No."

"Peter, for fuck's sake, you're in pain. Take my regen, please."

Again, the medic refuses, and Sylar raises his arms up in frustration before stomping over the cupboard to grab a cup, which he promptly fills with water. When he's satisfied with that, he holds it out to Peter.

"At least drink some water."

Peter takes the glass carefully and sips a bit, even though his mouth is sore, before setting the glass down.

"I understand," Peter begins, looking tiredly at his table, "If you don't want to stay tonight."

What he expects to happen is that Sylar will leave without a word. What really happens, though, is that Sylar rolls his eyes, makes a loud exasperated noise, and then scoops up Peter in a very undignified manner.

"I have to stay," he explains, as he carries the other man off to his bedroom, "Or else you'll never get some rest."

He reaches the bed and very gently places Peter on top of it, then methodically begins to remove any bulky clothing off of him, until Peter is in just his white undershirt and his boxer briefs.

Without the clothes covering them, Sylar can see all the bruises on Peter's body, and he squeezes the bed so hard in anger that Peter actually looks over with concern.

"It's really not that bad. I've had worse." When Sylar doesn't say anything, he continues, "Like some asshole who pushed me off a roof."

He's met with a glare and he just breathes out and lays back against his pillows, trying to get comfortable but can't. He watches as Sylar starts to remove his own clothing, until he's just in tight, black jeans and an undershirt. He crawls onto the bed and deposits himself next to Peter, clearly intent on staying awake and making sure Peter is okay, rather than sleeping.

Peter blinks several times.

"Are you seriously going to watch me sleep?"

Sylar quirks one eyebrow, just so, and very carefully reaches out to thread his fingers through Peter's hair. The gesture is so uncharacteristic and intimate that Peter actually has to close his eyes and try and remember how he got here to see that he wasn't dreaming. He's pretty sure that he took a taxi because some of his friends from work insisted, but then there was a traffic jam and he walked the rest of the way...

He reopens his eyes and focuses on the face above him, wondering what it is exactly that's changed between yesterday and today. (As far as Peter can tell, nothing has.) So why, then, was Sylar suddenly acting all nice?

Peter pushes up onto his elbows, and Sylar meets him halfway, and they kiss, slowly, more thorough, than they normally do, but when they start to heat things up, Peter can't help the gasp when the other man accidentally brushes his still sore knee.

"Sorry," Peter blurts, and Sylar shakes his head.

"Are you seriously apologizing for being in pain? Really?"

Peter's face flushes. It's a natural reaction of his to apologize for things that he can't necessarily help, and this was definitely one of those times. He tries to pull away, but the other man holds him fast, running a delicate touch across is cheek, tracing a bruise already blossoming there.

"I don't like when people hurt you," Sylar whispers, and Peter can't help but be confused. Since when...?

"That's funny," Peter replies, thoroughly ruining the moment. "I was under the impression you hated me."

Sylar's eyes search him for a moment before he sits up and runs his hand through his hair.

"Yeah, well. I guess things have changed recently."

"What kind of things?"

Gingerly, Peter sits back up and faces the other man, honestly wanting to know what he was dealing with. He had been under the impression - apparently, a false one- that he and Sylar were in some kind of weird "frenemies with benefits" situation, which he is definitely not proud of, but hey, Sylar does understand him, and not many others do. Besides, he misses being close to someone, and even if ninety percent of the time that touch is more hate fueled than affection, Peter takes it.

Now, it seems, something had changed right under Peter's very nose and he hadn't even realized it.

Sylar shifts so he's leaning forward so that Peter's full attention is on him.

"I don't know, Peter. I honestly haven't felt this way since...well..." He wants to say Elle, but he knows that Elle was just using him to get what she wanted. Just like everyone else. Was there affection there? Sure, but mostly, Sylar figures, Elle Bishop was suffering from an acute sense of guilt. If Sylar knew about one thing, it was guilt.

Peter knows what he means, though, and he nods and tries to get his companion to continue.

"There was a time where even just thinking about you made me want to punch a wall, but now, I see you, and I don't want to kill you. That's a start, right?"

Peter's not at all sure what to say, so he just looks up at Sylar and waits to see if he'll continue.

The other man ends up shrugging, as casually as he can with his heartbeat hammering in his ears, and cocks his head to one side. "Can we see how this turns out? Is that okay?"

Peter tries to believe, he does, but lately he doesn't even know who he can trust. His family, his friends, everyone seems to have a new lie to tell him or a new motive for talking to him. He's tired of it.

"I wish I could believe you, I really do, it's just...I don't know if I can. We've been hating each other for so long, and what we've been doing is weird enough-"

Sylar interrupts him, "-I don't think it's been weird."

Peter eyes him for a moment before sighing and shaking his head, wincing at the dull ache emanating from nearly every part of his body.

"At least let me help you take your mind off of the pain?"

Peter honestly has no idea what to do or say, but he moves his head slowly up and down and decides he'll see where this goes.

Turns out, what Sylar had in mind to distract Peter was to kiss him until he forgot what they were talking about in the first place, gently urging the other man to lay back down. Peter expects that Sylar will straddle him like he normally does, but instead, he pushes Peter until he's on his side, then curls up behind him, sliding one hand up the front of his shirt and maneuvering the other so it's resting near Peter's head.

Kisses are laid against the medic's neck, and Sylar's hand slides down his stomach until it reaches the waistband of his briefs.

Peter lifts his hips and Sylar shimmies the offending garment down to Peter's knees, bringing his hand back up to take Peter's cock in his hand, quickly settling into a rhythm and giving him no time to adjust to the sudden motions against his body.

"Oh," Peter manages to exhale, before rational thought starts to leave his brain entirely. He reaches behind him blindly, trying to grab on to something, but ends up gripping Sylar's arm instead. He moves his other arm, trying to grab on to the pillow, but finds it entwining with the other man's hand, and he squeezes Sylar's fingers and lets himself be touched, groaning when Sylar starts to whisper into his ear.

"You're so gorgeous, Peter, do you know that? You're perfect and only I get to touch you like this." He speeds up his hand. "You're mine."

Peter groans, arching his back, trying to get more friction, because everything feels so good and he hardly notices the dull ache in his knee anymore, or the stinging in his ribs. All he wants is to come and he wants Sylar to make him do it.

He opens his eyes when he realizes exactly how dependent he's become on the other man, how much he really does like him more than hate him. His hips stutter in a desperate attempt for contact, and he pushes himself back so that his ass rubs against Sylar's cock, and earns a stifled moan in response.

"Want to touch you," Peter manages to say, and Sylar pulls Peter until he's on his back, and Peter rolls onto his other side and immediately presses his lips against Sylar's, not even caring that the way he's laying is putting pressure on his bruised ribs. He reaches down and undoes the fastenings on the other man's pants, pulling his cock out and starting to stroke it in one smooth motion.

Sylar retaliates by taking Peter back in his hand and picking up the same harsh rhythm as before, and they kiss and move together until Peter can't take it anymore and he pulls his mouth back enough to try and say something, but all he manages is a "Oh, God," before his hips stutter and he comes, Sylar jerking him through his orgasm until he stops shuddering.

Peter starts to work his hand, hard, mumbling encouragements like, "Come on baby, come for me," and Sylar's eyes flutter shut as he wraps his hand around Peter's and helps to jerk him off, breathing uneven.

"I'm going to," Sylar breathes, and Peter presses their mouths together, mumbling, "That's it baby, come on, that's it," and Sylar's whole body stiffens.

He manages to groan, "Oh fuck, Peter, I love you," and then he comes, fucking Peter's hand even through the aftershocks, and then they're both piled together on messed up sheets, clothes put right again and feeling immensely euphoric.

"You love me?" Peter asks, once they catch their breath back, and Sylar stares at the ceiling for a long time before responding.

"Huh. I guess I do."

Peter snorts. "Aren't you a romantic?" But he finds himself smiling stupidly anyway, and he ends up falling asleep in a haze before he even has a chance to tell the other man exactly how he feels.

Maybe he'll do it in the morning, but right now, his ribs are fucking _killing_ him and the stress of the day is catching up with him. The last thing he remembers, before dropping off, is warm arms gently sprawled across his body and a soft pair of lips pressed to his shoulder, knowing that for now, at least, he's feeling much, much better.

Tomorrow, things will be even greater.


	7. Then Someone Said Good Morning

**Author:** Lornrocks, republished with permission and small edits for grammar and spacing

**Title:** Then Someone Said Good Morning  
**Rating:** PG-13  
**Characters/Pairings:** Peter/Sylar  
**Summary:** A sequel to my last fic (Won't Stop Until You're Shaking). This was requested as a follow up, in which Sylar heals Peter and is not sorry for it.  
**Warnings:** Unbeta'd, implied gayness. Okay, it's not implied. Sue me.

Sylar doesn't fall asleep after Peter does. Instead, he sits and watches the other man as he slumbers, breathing clearly labored. He knows that Peter must be exhausted from the past few days, and maybe jumping him wasn't the best idea, but it got his stubborn ass to go to sleep, so Sylar counts it as a win.

Peter tries to roll over in his sleep but he groans and shifts back. He didn't wake up all the way, but clearly, he wasn't doing too well.

Sylar decides something must be done.

He slides his fingers through Peter's, squeezing lightly.

"Come on, take regeneration from me." He squeezes harder, moving so he can whisper into the other man's ear, trying to see if he can hear him. "Please, sweetheart."

Peter shifts slightly, then mumbles something, and then a familiar tingle passes between their hands as Peter takes the regen. Almost instantly after, the bruises on his face begin to fade and Peter's breathing evens out.

He sleeps well the rest of the night, not once waking up.

When he does finally open his eyes, he's greeted by the sound of rain, pattering softly against his window; the smell of something delicious wafting in from the kitchen; and the sight of Sylar, standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, looking freshly showered and dressed, watching Peter.

"Hey," Peter mumbles, and realizes rather belatedly that he actually feels pretty good.

"Hey," Sylar says back, and hesitates for a moment before prompting, "How do you feel?"

The medic stretches, testing out his body, and finding no pain immediately evident, shrugs.

"Pretty good, actually. All things considered."

Sylar nods, then stands there as if waiting for something, but after a second, disappears back to the kitchen. He comes back holding a tray filled with breakfast foods, which would explain the delicious smell.

"I um, made you breakfast," he announces, and Peter can't help smiling.

"That's very nice of you, thank you."

He sits up and lets Sylar put the tray across his lap, then watches as Sylar sits down next to him on the bed and grabs an apple.

They sit there for a bit in companionable silence, munching on food and otherwise having a nice, lazy morning, when Peter stops mid bite and turns to stare at the other man. _Mother fucker, _he thinks, as he realizes what must have happened. "Is this your way of apologizing for making me take regen?"

Sylar looks guilty almost immediately, but instead of looking away, he stares right back at Peter. "Yes, it is." He waits a beat. "Although I'm not sorry. You look much better now."

Peter levels his best glare in the other man's direction, but eventually, their little battle of wills loses its steam and they both sigh and retreat back to what they were doing: eating breakfast. Afterwards, Peter helps Sylar with the dishes in the kitchen, then goes to jump in the shower.

Three times he has to push the other man out of the bathroom before he resorts to locking the door (never mind it won't stop him from getting in if he really wanted to).

"I can shower by myself just fine," he says, through the wood of the door, and he can almost see Sylar raising a suggestive eyebrow.

"Oh, I know that, Peter. I was just wondering if you needed help with something else."

The obvious insinuation in his tone leaves nothing to the imagination, and Peter actually almost opens the door before he reminds himself that he needs some time to think. He sheds his clothes and takes a long, hot shower, reemerging in just a towel.

He quite likes the way he makes the other man's face flush, he decides, and heads into his room to salvage some clothes, which he carefully puts on, even though he knows that the regeneration fixed all of his injuries.

He comes back out and leans over the back of the armchair that Sylar is seated in, nuzzling the side of his face, pleased that his new... whatever doesn't seem to mind the affection.

"So did you really mean what you said, or was that just a heat of the moment thing?"

Sylar tenses, but then relaxes, sighing, "I'm not sure. I think the first one."

Peter thinks for a moment, then moves until he's standing in front of the armchair.

"I'm not sure either, but I think that I might not hate you. In fact, I'd say it's more... that I like you, now?"

He knows ending this confession in an upward inflection is probably a bad thing, but he doesn't know what else to say without giving too much away. He waits for a response, but instead of getting a raised eyebrow or a chuckle, he gets a pair of arms wrapped around middle, tugging him down until he's sideways in the chair, sitting in Sylar's lap, and practically melts into the other man's kiss, feeling better than he has in a long, long time.

The regen has nothing to do with it.

"I still don't forgive you for tricking me," Peter mumbles into Sylar's lips, but is quickly pulled back in before he can say anymore.

"Okay," he says, pulling back one last time, "I do."

He shifts so he's straddling the man underneath him and threads his fingers in the other man's hair, smiling to himself as he leans down to press a kiss to Sylar's temple.

He can't hold a grudge forever, after all.


	8. Frenemies Take A Day Off

**Title:** Frenemies Take A Day Off  
**Rating:** PG  
**Characters/Pairings:** Peter, Sylar  
**Summary:** Peter and Sylar enjoy one another's company in a thoroughly sensual, but non-sexual, manner. They discuss Intuitive Aptitude.  
**Warnings:** There's not much to warn about here. It's slash, there's one kiss, and they mention that someone got shot.  
**Notes:** I actually did have a beta reader for this. Thanks Lornrocks! Any mistakes are still my fault, of course.

* * *

Peter felt _**so good**_. He was sitting on the couch with Sylar next to him, curled up in a loose fetal ball under his arm, his cheek to Peter's chest, one hand on the small of his back and the other on his stomach. It was an unlikely position for a psycho-killer. He looked so content, clinging to Peter just enough to let him know he needed him, not so tightly that he seemed too dependent.

Noah's words were on Peter's mind, about how they'd cut Sylar off from any support, driven him and harassed him, intentionally made him be alone, even though they'd known what his ability was, how dangerous it was. He considered Sylar's worst nightmare. He thought about his own loneliness and how wonderful it felt right now to be with someone.

_Maybe that's it,_ Peter thought. _Maybe I just got so lonely I was willing to take anyone_. His fingertips brushed Sylar's arm, exposed skin against skin, and the other man made a tiny sound. He burrowed his head more firmly against Peter's chest and his fingers clutched loosely at his back and abdomen. Peter shivered as a sensation started in his groin, tickled his stomach on the way up, made his breath catch and his eyes water. It ran all through him, leaving him with gooseflesh. He felt Sylar's cheek move against his chest and knew the man was smiling at the reaction. Peter brushed him again a moment later, because that feeling was like a drug and he wanted another hit. Sylar obliged.

He loved the simple warmth of Sylar's body against his. It was soft and warm, but firm under the surface, giving an impression of gentleness and strength. He could feel Sylar's heart beating when he really concentrated. He was sure Sylar could hear his clearly with his ear to Peter's chest. They were breathing together. Peter expected their hearts were beating in time as well.

It was like his body had needed a holiday, had been desperate for a vacation or a day off. His physical form was following Sylar's lead, letting the other man's body set the pace of his own, regulating him and letting Peter go on standby, letting him truly relax for the first time in years. He hadn't known how much stress that was – a negligible amount every day, but building over time until the burden was almost unendurable. The relief of having it gone was like sex itself. Peter hummed, or maybe even moaned, just at the sheer sybaritic pleasure of touching another person.

Sylar's fingers traced little circles on his gut and over his sacrum, under his t-shirt. Another line of gooseflesh marched across Peter's skin and he gasped, arching just a little into the contact. This time it was definitely a moan.

* * *

_I need a bigger couch,_ Peter thought. They'd shifted, so Sylar was lying partly on him now. Peter was on his back against the back of the couch and the arm of it. One leg was up and next to the back of the couch, parallel to it and bent. The other leg was on the floor. He would have looked sprawled out and completely open to the world, except that Sylar was lying on him, head pillowed on Peter's stomach, arms wrapped loosely around him, legs curled and tucked behind him on the couch.

One of Peter's hands was on Sylar's head, alternately stroking his hair or his face or his neck or his shoulder of the line of his upper arm where he could reach it. Peter's other hand was on the arm of the couch. They were both dressed in t-shirts. In Peter's case, he was wearing sweat pants too. Sylar had latched onto a pair of old pajama bottoms.

They'd been lying together for most of the afternoon and Peter couldn't imagine a better way to spend his day off. He was doing absolutely nothing and it was fantastic. It was like he was waking up from a fever dream, like he was finally becoming sane. He wondered if Sylar felt the same way. He suspected he did, if the almost desperate way he sought contact and comfort was any indication.

Sylar had said he loved him. Peter wasn't sure what to make of that. He was idly tracing the line where Sylar's forehead met his hair, over and over again. After a while he dropped down to follow one of Sylar's brows. Peter liked him. He needed him. He wasn't entirely sure about love, though. Was it too early? What about what had happened to Caitlin and Simone? What would happen if he said the words? Would it matter? Was Sylar waiting for him to say it? That Peter hadn't said it certainly didn't seem to have abated Sylar's desire for him, which was nice.

He petted Sylar's hair and practicing saying it in his head, thinking about what would happen next if he actually took that leap of faith.

* * *

"There was a woman who had Intuitive Aptitude," Peter said, after hours of lying together quietly. "She was college aged, a freshman, I think. She went in to get tested, for the in-depth test, since she'd come up positive on the first one. And I suppose she wanted to. I mean, I really don't know why she went in for the second test, but they took her sample and the readings and told her they'd get in touch with her with the results."

Sylar shifted slightly and made a slight noise in the back of his throat, indicating that he was listening, without interrupting. He was next to Peter now, lying on his side wedged between Peter and the back of the couch. Peter was on his back, one hand tucked into the waistband of his sweat pants and the other sort of awkwardly piled on top of his lover. Sylar had an arm under himself and the other slung around Peter's waist, parallel to and touching Peter's arm. Their legs were tangled together.

"Noah… he asked me to go. Told me, more like. She had a little apartment. It was all cluttered up with toys – little mechanical toys. We told her who we were, made sure she was the right person, all that stuff. She got started right away telling us about her projects, how she was having trouble getting to her classes because she'd become obsessed with making more of these little toys, making everything fit together and make sense and work _just right_."

Peter sighed and fell silent for over a minute, remembering her last moments, what she'd been saying. "She was reaching up on a shelf to get one to show us when Noah shot her in the back twice."

Sylar jumped, then curled his head down and his arm tightened slightly across Peter's midsection. Peter stroked Sylar's ribs a little where his one arm was atop the other man.

He swallowed and went on, "She hadn't killed anyone that we know of. I was thinking… I don't know. There was something going on there. In the future, when I met you in the future, I had your ability, but I didn't know how to access it. You showed me, by showing me a watch or a clock or something like it and having me take it apart and put it back together again. Was that what she was doing? Trying to access her ability?"

"Yes," Sylar said, his voice muffled against Peter's shirt.

"What would have happened after she did?"

Sylar shrugged and curled his head down a little more. Minutes passed in silence. Peter stroked Sylar's ribs again, then pulled his hand from the waistband of his pants to caress Sylar's forearm where it lay across his stomach. Sylar lifted his head and said, "She would have killed. Noah… did right."

"Is there…" Peter huffed. "Is there any way to have that ability and not be driven to kill?"

"I'm not driven to kill anymore. I just do it because I want to and I like it. And I might as well, because they're after me anyway."

"But were you to start with?"

Sylar tucked his head down again and said something that was probably a 'yes.' Peter shifted and Sylar clutched him suddenly, but there was no danger of Peter going anywhere. He just got his arm free enough to pet Sylar's hair again and stroke the side of his face. That seemed to stir the man, because he wriggled around so he could rise on his elbow and then scooted forward to kiss Peter's lips.

"Mm," Peter said approvingly. Sylar sat up and Peter missed their contact immediately. He lifted his legs and swung them over Sylar's lap, making sure he couldn't get away entirely. Sylar rubbed his thigh absently, then with more care and attention.

"Why are you asking?"

Peter sighed. He wasn't entirely sure. His subconscious was churning something around, but it hadn't deigned to inform him yet of what it was getting at. "I… I'm not sure. The reason why they're after you, the reason they keep _saying_, is because you're a killer. They say you couldn't stop if you wanted to, but since you've gone months without doing it from time to time in the past, and I know you've had lots of chances… after getting to know you so much in that nightmare… I don't think that's true."

Sylar didn't say anything, so Peter asked, "How long does it take? How long does it take before you don't have to kill anymore?"

Sylar made a long exhalation and an abortive attempt to get up. Peter pressed down with his legs, resisting the effort and Sylar gave in immediately. The more they'd been together, the more submissive Sylar had become as he grew to trust Peter more. All that threat and bravado hid a frightened boy who just wanted someone to take care of him. It was sweet, and bizarre, and hit _all_ the right buttons for Peter.

Sylar answered him, "I think… all it really takes is one, just like all it really takes is one watch or one machine. Once you know how it all works together, that's all you really need. Seeing all the other ones out there, all the variations and differences – it's nice, but you don't _need_ it." He was silent for a long time as Peter pondered the scores of people Sylar had killed and how he'd said it felt good, each and every time like rediscovering his ability for the first time.

Sylar added, "Of course… if you're alone… then you don't know…" He swallowed. "You still feel the urge, and you know how much of a relief it was to finally understand, and so you… you think that maybe if you just did it again, the urge would go away. And so… maybe you do… and then you've done it twice… and…" He shrugged and looked away, unhappy and tense.

They weren't breathing together anymore and Peter could feel it as that tenuous link pulled between them, shredded and broke. He reached out and took Sylar's nearer hand, the one he could reach, and he felt the ties between them renew as Peter's quiet acceptance calmed Sylar's apprehensions.

Peter let long minutes pass before he asked his next question, not wanting to drive Sylar away by bringing up the uncomfortable past. "So, if someone had been there with her, and shown her what to do, told her what was going to happen… held her hand..." He squeezed Sylar's hand demonstratively and with that gesture Peter knew what his subconscious had been knocking around back there in the dark recesses of his mind. "Then maybe it would have only taken one?"

"Yeah, probably," Sylar answered. "Assuming of course she wasn't predisposed to it. I mean, anyone can kill. You don't need an ability to be a murderer. And if she already wanted to kill someone, then the Hunger might push her over the edge. It's… you're prone to obsession at first and it's hard to think straight without… without anyone being there for you." Sylar squeezed Peter's hand in return. "But it passes. It's like an addiction. It fades. Might not ever really go away, and there's things that make it worse, but you get more control."

"Is that why control is so important to you?"

Sylar only smiled at him and pulled his hand back and forth. He'd given up his control to Peter. He didn't realize Peter was going to return the favor.


	9. Frenemy Mine

**Title:** Frenemies Mine  
**Rating:** R  
**Characters/Pairings:** Peter, Sylar  
**Summary:** Peter resolves to take a leap of faith and join Sylar's life whole-heartedly.  
**Warnings:** Death of side characters  
**Notes:** Last chapter, and I want to repeat my thanks to Lornrocks for her two chapters (6 and 7), her permission in publishing them here, and her assistance in beta'ing mine. This is the last chapter.

* * *

They were still on the couch, now just holding hands, other than Peter's leg hanging a bit possessively over Sylar's. Peter had been lost in thought for a while. He knew what he wanted to do. He knew what would fill the void in his life. There would be a cost, though, both on his soul and outside of it. He would pay his part of it willingly, even eagerly. His soul didn't matter so much to him anymore. But for the other part…

There was only one person who could really stop them – Peter and Sylar. Sylar had been fortunate that Hiro was just a bit dim and self-absorbed, easily manipulated by others, by stories and tales and false representations of reality. Hiro didn't look deeper into events or people very often, taking his orders at face value.

It was remarkable, really, that no one had ever made a determined effort to have Hiro use his powers to bring Sylar in. Peter suspected he knew why that was – his mother wasn't done manipulating him, or was saving Sylar back for some purpose. It might have been acceptable if the people involved knew and were involved in the decisions, rather than being hunted and manipulated and chased around the chessboard. The emotional cost was too high. Peter was sure of that.

He looked at Sylar and asked, "If I fall, will you catch me?"

Sylar blinked. After a long beat, he said, "Of course."

"That doesn't sound very definite."

"It's tough to be definite when I don't know what you intend to do."

Peter leaned over and kissed him, letting it deepen. Sylar felt the tingle of Peter taking a power. "I think you'll like this," Peter murmured against his lips, then leaned back. Peter looked back and forth between Sylar's eyes for a long moment, hesitating, then he said, "I'm not going to do what my mother did to… does to you, to us, really, so I'll explain. I've taken Intuitive Aptitude. I'm going to activate it."

Sylar's brows rose, but he didn't object.

"I'm going to call Hiro and tell him to come here. He will, and he won't even ask why, because he's stupid. And then…" Peter swallowed and looked away. "I'm going to kill him."

Sylar's brows rose as high as they could go. "Peter?"

"I'm going to. If… If I have to kill someone, it might as well be him. There's… there's a lot of people who deserve it more, but his ability is too…" Peter shook his head. "If the power to change the past is true, then Hiro ends _entire realities_ when he uses it. If it isn't, then it's a shit power that doesn't really make a difference. But if his power really works that way, then no serial killer or mass murderer or genocidal dictator or anyone in history even comes close to the _atrocities_ Hiro commits, without even understanding what he's doing. There are simple experiments he could do to test it, but he hasn't, because that's not how a comic book hero would use their power. They'd have… 'faith' and whatever the fuck."

Peter shook his head again.

"Teleportation would be nice to have," Sylar said evenly.

Peter nodded. "That occurred to me. They're going to know. I had to… Last week I had to blackmail Matt Parkman into keeping quiet about us. I lied to my mother about it. The look she gave me… I think she knows. Or at least suspects." Peter exhaled forcefully. "I'm not going to have you killed or imprisoned because of us." He leaned over and kissed Sylar passionately, pleased that his emotion was returned in full.

When they parted, Peter said, "If she doesn't know already, it's still only a matter of time until some other precognitive, or her own dreaming, gives us away. I'm not going to allow that. With Hiro's teleportation, they can't come after us and we can go wherever we want."

"Peter… the ability… you should know this, since you had it, but it affects your thinking for a while. You're not rational during it. Not at first. You'll think you are, but you're not."

"I know. That's why I asked if you'd catch me. Because for a while, I'm going to really need you." _Like I've never needed anyone before, _Peter thought. Keeping himself in line wasn't a burden he would have put on anyone else, except Nathan, and that wasn't an option anymore.

Sylar studied him for a long time, then asked in a low, calm voice, "Do you really understand what you're getting into, Peter? You can't turn it off if things don't work out as you like."

Peter looked down, then up at Sylar. "No. I'm not going to pretend I do." He was quiet for a moment, then said, "You've made it a long time with it."

"It's made me crazy, Peter."

He swallowed. "Would you have been crazy if you had someone to share it with? Are you crazy now?"

Another long silence stretched between them until finally Sylar said, "I'll catch you."

* * *

"Hello?" said an accented voice on the other end of the line.

"Hey, Hiro. I need your help. I have Sylar here." Peter found what he wanted in the coat closet and stepped back, easily hefting a baseball bat. Sylar shrugged. It would work fine. He was just glad, at the moment, that Peter had enough focus to continue on with the plan rather than getting distracted by the first special he saw - who would, of course, be Sylar. Sylar was staying still, not talking, and trying to avoid drawing attention to himself. Things would get awkward fast if Peter fixated on killing him.

"Where is 'here'?" said Hiro's voice on the phone.

"Right here in my apartment. I have him. I need your help though. Can you come right away?" Peter showed the bat to Sylar and grinned, waggling his brows up and down. His brain chemistry was already changing to accommodate the power, making him receptive to new abilities… and also making him a little unhinged. His voice was tight. Sylar remembered hefting the amethyst, saying something stupid to his own first victim, bludgeoning him right in the middle of the store.

"You have him?" Hiro said. "Yes! Yes, I will be there right away!"

"Wait, Hiro!"

"Yes?"

"Bring Ando." Peter mimed a kiss at Sylar, who gave him a small, worried smile. Ando hadn't been part of the plan.

Within seconds, Hiro and Ando were standing in the living room. Peter hung up the phone and said, "That was even faster than I expected."

Ando said, "We were playing Magic: The Gathering together." He looked at Sylar and jerked back.

Hiro looked confused. "He is awake!" he said of Sylar, who was still sitting on the couch.

Ando added unnecessarily, "And unrestrained."

They both looked to Peter, who was standing slightly behind them. "That's right. That's why I needed your help. Watch him." They glanced between Peter and Sylar uncertainly. "Watch him!" Peter said abruptly, a strong note of alarm in his voice. Both men turned to look at Sylar, their attention fixed on him for a moment, even though Sylar was doing nothing at all.

Neither saw it coming when Peter hit Hiro solidly in the back of the head with the bat. Sylar reacted instantly. He might have looked calm, but he'd been poised since Peter activated the ability. Now he lashed out with telekinesis and seized Ando by the neck, hoisting him up from the floor and choking him. Peter crouched over Hiro, digging his fingers into the smashed portion of his skull. The frenzy was overtaking him now that he had a victim to hand.

Peter looked up at Sylar, grinning madly, then went back to his task. Sylar slashed Ando across the throat and dropped him to the floor, far enough away from Peter that his convulsive kicks didn't endanger him. He moved a little closer to Peter and said softly, "Here, let me help." He raised his finger and cut open Hiro's skull. "Now don't mangle it, because I want it after you're done."

* * *

When they were finished, Sylar tried to pull Peter into the kitchen to clean up. Peter was babbling about how he understood everything now, how profoundly a person's emotions influenced their thoughts and vice versa, how the body affected the brain with hormones and chemicals, how the brain in turn formed the thoughts, why Peter hadn't been able to see it before because he was focusing only on one thing at a time, but it was so beautiful as a whole…

He was crying about some of it, which Sylar thought was a weird reaction. When it had overtaken him, he'd been much more intellectual about it. He assumed this was some interaction with Peter's empathy. In any case, it would pass soon, which was too bad. Peter would lose the sensation he had at the moment of near omniscience. Sylar certainly hadn't turned his nose up at the offered materials so it wasn't like he didn't have the same feeling. He'd just had more experience to leaven it with. Sylar held Peter's hands under the water and scrubbed at the blood.

Peter finally started washing himself, having regained at least a little of his presence of mind. It wouldn't be long before the regret hit him, Sylar knew. At least, he hoped the regret hit him. Peter just wouldn't be Peter if he didn't at least feel bad about what he'd done.

Sylar kept hold of him, a steady presence, a continual grip, constant contact. If Peter teleported somewhere, Sylar would have no idea where he went, but if he was touching him, then Sylar would go with him. Until Peter gained regeneration, he was mortal. Sylar couldn't bear the thought of something happening to him.

He was barely done cleaning them both up when Peter stiffened. "We have to go," Peter said. "There's one more thing I have to know. Sylar, I have to _know!_" And with that, Peter vanished. Fortunately, Sylar had a hold of him and went too.

They both appeared inside the Petrelli house. Sylar blinked, looking around, and Peter strode away rapidly. "Wait! Peter!" He gave chase.

Peter hunted through the rooms, teleporting to the second floor rather than taking the stairs.

"Shit!" Sylar said, pursuing him. He hadn't been this reckless when his power was new, had he? He heard Angela's scream from down the hall and rushed to the end. Peter had hold of his mother and was trying to drag her into the bathroom, probably to dash her brains out on the granite countertop of the sink.

Sylar grabbed him around the neck from behind, putting him in a choke-hold and yanking him back. Peter struggled, but thankfully he was in no frame of mind to borrow an ability that would help him escape. His mind was consumed by one thing only. Angela recoiled against the wall, huddled on the floor. She watched while _Sylar_ saved her from her son.

"No! No, Peter!" he told him, tightening his grip, locking his arm down and cutting off blood flow and air. He kept it up until Peter's body began to slacken, then immediately stopped. A moment later Peter roused.

"Peter, please! Listen to me… Listen to me. I love you. I love you. Listen… listen…" Peter wasn't fighting him, so he was listening, but he was still coiled like a spring. Sylar eased up just a touch on the pressure, making sure Peter had enough air. Peter lifted his chin and shifted in his grip, but there wasn't enough give to get loose.

"I'm here, Peter." He kissed the back of Peter's head. Peter turned his head a little so Sylar kissed the side of it too. "I'm here. You don't have to kill. You don't have to know. I know it feels like it, feels like you do, but you don't. You can control it. Let me help you control it. Don't kill her. You don't have to."

"I have to know why! Why did she try to get me to blow up New York? The real reason, not that bullshit about the fucking election! She caused you and she's not done, either! She doesn't deserve what she has… any of it. I'll take it and then I'll know!" He arched his back away from Sylar and struggled again, getting nowhere fast. He stopped before he passed out this time.

"It's okay, Peter. It's okay." He nuzzled the side of Peter's head desperately, trying to give him some human contact, trying to distract him from the homicidal mania.

Angela looked past the two of them, entwined almost as lovers, at the door. Her intent was clear, even if she hadn't yet moved. Sylar paused for a moment to tell her, directly and in a harsh tone, "Angela, stay right there." She locked eyes with him for a moment and gave a single nod. Her eyes went to Peter's.

Peter's face contorted. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't, Sylar."

"Because you'll regret it forever. Trust me, I **know**. Not her. Not _**her**_. Not your _mother_. Please don't, Peter. There are others. I'll even help you. But not her… not her." He relaxed his grip, feeling some of the tension leave Peter. He was partly leaning back against Sylar, panting and trembling now, trying to get a hold of himself.

Sylar slid his arm down around Peter's chest and he petted his head with the other. He whispered into his ear, calming him, "Easy. Easy. I love you. It'll be okay. It'll make sense later. I'm with you. I'm not going to leave you alone with this ability like I was left alone - so alone. I'll be with you. You asked me to catch you if you fell. I'm catching you. Don't fall, Peter. I'll help you. It's going to be okay."

Peter turned suddenly and buried his head against Sylar's chest. "I love you," he said in a small voice.

Sylar sucked in his breath and exhaled in a huff that was almost a bark of laughter. He hugged Peter to him. "I love you, too."

"I killed…" Peter said softly, almost a moan.

_And there's the regret_, Sylar thought. The mood swings had taken him months to figure out, but he expected Peter would be much faster, with his understanding of emotions. Sylar kissed the top of his head and soothed him. He suspected that having someone with him, to stand by him and support him through it would speed things too. Sylar had been so wretched when he first got the ability - he'd wanted to, tried to, kill himself. He kissed Peter again, holding him protectively.

Angela slowly stood, as if aware the threat was gone. She'd seen this ability manifest before, Sylar was sure. Otherwise how would they have known so well what to do in managing him?

"Thank you," she said softly.

Sylar scoffed. "I didn't do it for you, you evil bitch. I did it for _**him**_." He led Peter away. They had a life together now, ahead of them and no one was going to come between them.

**The End.**


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